Wolf for Hire

Chapter Six

As a product of the South, I was raised in a gun-toting family. My dad, my brother, even my mom—they all carried, and I'd gotten my concealed permit at 19. When I moved out on my own, my dad gifted me a .38 Special revolver. Nothing says fatherly love like a housewarming present that goes bang bang. And, let's be real, I was single, lived alone, and wasn't exactly martial arts material, so the gun had always stayed tucked in my bag. Had being the key word.

At some point, Carl must have gotten his little monkey hands on it. Safety or no safety, it hadn't stopped him from firing it.

The first shot should have scared him into dropping it. I hoped.

I sprinted across the yard, my heart pounding. The gun was loaded with target practice rounds, but those could still kill.

I burst through the back door and immediately dropped to the floor. Carl was standing on the coffee table, and swung to face me, gripping my five-shot revolver like a mobster wielding a tommy-gun.

Another shot rang out, wild and wide, shattering a window ten feet away. Carl's aim was terrible, but judging by the angle, he might have actually hit the broad side of the barn.

That was the second shot. Which meant Carl had three left.

I slid behind the couch, yanking a couple of cushions for cover. Blindly, I chucked the first one over the top at Carl. I couldn't aim the cushion any better than he could aim the gun, but it did the trick. Carl fired at it, using up another round.

On hands and knees, I scrambled toward the kitchen, slipping on something wet. The fish tank—Carl's first bullet had shattered it, and now water was pooling across the floor. Of course. The little bastard had stolen my gun, and the first thing he did was break something. If JT found out, he'd never let me live it down. Assuming I survived this and kept the job.

Barking and screeching echoed through the house as the other animals reacted to the mayhem.

I glanced down the hall and saw the dogs poking their heads out of various rooms. Coy's head popped through the back door. Stay! I commanded, using one of the words I'd learned from Sandy's book, combining it with my dog-speak. The last thing I needed was a pack of dogs running into the crossfire.

Carl got the drop on me. I turned just in time to see him perched on the couch, the revolver aimed directly at me. But he didn't fire right away. No, the little bastard was savoring it.

Seems he was still sour about the whole banana chip business.

From somewhere, I heard a bloodcurdling scream—Phin, or maybe Ferb, mimicking me when Solomon dropped Elmo in my lap. Carl flinched, turning just for a second. That was all I needed. I launched the second cushion, smacking him off the couch. The gun went off, the drywall above my head exploding into dust and plaster.

I scrambled toward the back rooms, staying low, trying to reach some place I could barricade myself. But I didn't make it.

Moonrise had begun.

I collapsed mid-step, my body already starting to change. It was more abrupt than the night before—closer to the full moon now—but it still wasn't fast enough. A minute or two at least.

Plenty of time for Carl to find me and put the last shot in my ass.

I had to speed it up. The transformation was happening, auto-dog was clawing its way out, whether I liked it or not. Normally, I fought it—maybe that was why it always took so long. But if I embraced it, maybe I could push the process along. Just this once.

I didn't love the idea of handing the wheel to the auto-dog, but it was that or get shot by a monkey wielding my own gun. And if I ended up in the hospital with a bullet wound, I'd have to file a police report. I'd probably get fined for failing to secure my firearm and lose my concealed carry permit. Worse, I'd end up with a medical bill that would force me to declare bankruptcy. Or... end up dead, should I be so lucky.

I clenched my fists, trying to force the transformation forward. My skin prickled, muscles tightening as bones began to shift beneath them. I could feel the wolf creeping closer, the auto-dog ready to take over. It was either give in now or get shot—no contest.

Focusing on the wolf in the back of my mind, I used the command word Come. It called the auto-dog forward, pulling it from the shadows, and I shoved it into the driver's seat.

The wolf—the real wolf—was startled. It wasn't used to this: being let out without resistance. I felt its confusion ripple through me, like it wasn't sure what to do with the sudden freedom. That disorientation—being in a body still half-human—turned into a fierce drive to fully transform. Fur rippled across my skin, bones cracking, and within moments, I was on all fours.

My gamble had worked, but now the wolf didn't know what to do. It was like tossing a kid behind the wheel of a car without any idea how to drive. It had control, but it hesitated, confused.

Move, I shouted in my mind, pushing my intention toward it.

The wolf sprang into action just as Carl's shot struck the ground where we'd been lying. He had, in fact, been aiming for my ass. The wolf howled in surprise, then rage, as my emotions spilled over into it.

We turned toward Carl, limbs fully transformed now. He'd squeezed off his last shot, and it was time to negotiate. I directed the wolf's attention to him and issued an ultimatum through dog-speak.

Carl, I'm going to rip you limb from limb, you little bastard!

Carl pulled the trigger again—click, click, click. Empty. The wolf lunged at him. Panicking, he threw the revolver at us, hitting us square on the nose. I say 'us' because we both felt it—the pain and the outrage. Between that and the pajamas still tangled around our legs, our jaws snapped shut inches from Carl's face.

He screamed, high pitched and piercing, bolting for the furniture, knocking over shelves and vases in his mad scramble. The wolf tore free of the pajamas, charging after him, my anger fueling its every step. Her every step. The huntress had taken over, and Carl was her prey.

Catch him, but don't kill him, I instructed. But I could feel the wolf's reluctance. She was in control now, no more playing the auto-dog, and I was stuck in the passenger seat—AJ, the Auto-Jane. I felt that I could still nudge her actions, as long as she wasn't too focused on the kill.

Carl fled away from his room, darting down the hall—he had no choice since the wolf's pursuit had cut him off from that side of the house.

Coy! We barked the command mentally, broadcasting it through the house. Close the back door. Don't let Carl out of the house.

We couldn't see Coy, but the wolf and I knew he'd hear us. Off in the distance, there was a click as a door shut—order confirmed. At the same time, I nudged the wolf to close Carl's door too, cutting off his last route of escape.

Carl was going to learn some manners tonight.

He scrambled and dodged through the house, the wolf hot on his heels, as he hurled anything within reach—books, picture frames, even a lamp—but his options were limited. The wolf cornered him in the hallway near Elmo's enclosure, the only exit a trapdoor in the ceiling he had no hope of accessing. He jumped onto Elmo's tank, clearly thinking he could topple it and create a distraction.

The wolf rushed him before he had a chance to enact his plan, forcing him to abandon the tank.

He timed his jump, springing off the top of the enclosure.

With a burst of speed that surprised even me, the wolf leaped into the air, jaws wide, and caught Carl mid-leap. She had been listening to my thoughts when I anticipated his move. The instinct to shake him to death surged through us, but I wrestled the wheel back from the wolf, forcing my will onto her, quelling the urge.

He's still our charge. We protect him, even from himself.

The wolf snarled but obeyed, clamping down just enough to hold Carl still and make him as uncomfortable as possible. Carl kicked and screamed, even bit, his free hand flailing, but the wolf held firm. Now that he was caught, she seemed uncertain what to do next. It was like a dog finally catching the car it was chasing—what now?

Her indecision loosened her grip on control, and I seized the opportunity to shove her out of the driver's seat. I was back in charge, at least for the moment.

Stop squirming, Carl, or I swear I'll eat you. I mentally shouted, projecting the thought through dog-speak. The wolf—now demoted back to auto-dog—reinforced the message with a deep, rumbling growl of her own.

Carl froze as instructed, though the screaming continued. Apparently, dog-speak wasn't just for dogs.

Coy reappeared at the hallway's edge. Search his cage, I instructed him. Find anything he's taken, especially the keys. Despite the door to Carl's room being shut, I had no doubt Coy would find a way in. He was a familiar, after all—one with a talent for getting into places he didn't belong. He'd be fine.

When I caught up with Coy in Carl's room, he'd already uncovered most of Carl's stash: the barn keys, my car keys, a kitchen knife, super glue, twist ties, and fifty dollars in crumpled bills I was pretty sure were mine. They were in a neat, albeit smelly, pile in the corner of the room. I asked Coy to drop them all in the kitchen sink.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Once Coy left, I turned my attention back to Carl.

Sit and Listen. I projected the command words with a growl, adding force to make sure he got the message. When I let go, Carl plopped onto the floor, sitting and quivering.

Now, Carl, I growled, baring my teeth. You're going back to your cage. Willingly. You'll behave yourself, or I'll make good on my promise to tear you apart. Nice AJ won't be around much longer, so don't push your luck. Now, off with you!

Carl shot toward his cage, locking himself inside in a flash.

And who said I couldn't be diplomatic.

With Carl secured, I surveyed the damage. The house was a wreck, but at least the immediate danger was over.

Carl's first shot had gone into a fish tank, hitting it about midway up, causing it to half-drain. The fish would survive, though they'd be cramped until I could replace the tank. I'd need to measure it and swing by Petsmart tomorrow.

His last two bullets had gone into the floor and wall. The wall was an easy fix—I was pretty handy with plaster, and with the right shade of paint, no one would ever know. The floor, though, was a different story. One of the bullets had split the wood, peeling up a six-inch splinter from the polished plank. Whether the bullet was lodged in the wood or ricocheted somewhere else, I had no idea. That would take a deep dive into YouTube for a solution.

Then there was the second shot: a hole punched clean through one of the smaller window panes. Thankfully, I wouldn't need to replace the entire window—just the one pane.
The third shot had obliterated the couch cushion. It looked like it had been through a war, or maybe Boden had gotten to it and used it as a chew toy.

Hmm… Boden might make for a good scapegoat.

So really, the floor and window were my biggest concerns. Maybe JT could help me fix it—after I broke it a little more to disguise the bullet hole. The last thing I needed was to explain how Carl had gotten his hands on my gun and decided to reenact Dirty Harry.

With the Fourth of July coming up, I hoped anyone who'd heard the shots would chalk it up to early fireworks.

Play my cards right, and no one would be any the wiser about what had just transpired.

Still, one little fact nagged at me: Solomon had known.

As I mulled that over, I felt several pairs of eyes on me. I turned to see the dogs—all the dogs—watching me from the hallway. Even Phin, Ferb, and the owls had gathered. Looks like I had some explaining to do.

The dogs were wary, unsure how to react. Even Coy, who'd followed my commands earlier, hung back, hesitant.

Right, I was a wolf now. There had to be some kind of dog etiquette I was supposed to follow, but I didn't have the first clue what that was.

So, I just addressed them.

It's me, guys, I thought, sharing memories of playing fetch, naps in the yard, car rides, being fed. You can approach. I won't bite.

Maggie was the first to step forward, cautiously sniffing at me. I realized I was easily two or three times bigger than any of them—except for Boden, though at a hefty 130 pounds, I still outweighed him by quite a bit. Small for a human, but big for a dog. Still, one by one, they came over. First Maggie, then Coy, then Murray, until soon they were all sniffing and nosing at me, excitement growing as they realized it was still me, just... furrier.

Rudy, of course, got a little too curious, sniffing the base of my tail with too much enthusiasm.

Don't even think about it, buster, I warned, and he backed off.

I straightened up, addressing the pack. Coy, Maggie, the rest of you—help me check on the other animals. Make sure they're okay.

It occurred to me that maybe my dog-speak didn't just work on dogs. Solomon had hinted that I wasn't listening properly, and Carl had definitely understood the gist of what I was saying earlier. Perhaps the only reason I thought it worked just on dogs was because I'd never tried it on anything else.

Maybe I could communicate with other animals too.

I moved through the house, checking on each animal. A few were startled by the sight of a massive wolf entering their space, but as I suspected, I could relay my thoughts—calming, reassuring images of me feeding them earlier. Despite the initial panic, they relaxed. I tested out the command words I'd learned. Stay adapted into stay still and stay calm. The word for listen was especially handy, grabbing their attention and getting them to focus. Even the guinea pigs lined up in perfect formation when I commanded them to listen.

Maybe Vanessa had been right to trust that I could figure things out as I went along.

As for the fish in the leaking fish tank, I gave them assurances that I'd have them in a new home as soon as possible, but I wasn't sure if they understood me. Familiars or not, they were fish afterall. I retrieved a towel from the bathroom and dropped in on the hardwood to soak up the water. Wasn't much else I could do at the moment.

Once the checkups were done, I retrieved my gun from the hallway and hid it in the desk drawer in the guestroom. It would have to do for now. When I returned to the living room, I found Solomon lounging lazily on the coffee table. Phin and Ferb were back to watching television, and the parliament of owls had returned to their roost, perhaps to hold a late-night consortium. The dogs had mysteriously vanished.

My anger from earlier began bubbling up again.

You knew Carl had the keys all day, and you didn't warn me, I projected mentally. I would have crossed my arms if I could.

"Whatever do you mean?" Solomon purred, his voice dripping with false innocence, his tail swishing lazily across the table.

I growled, stepping towards the cat. I've been thinking. Carl must've grabbed the key when he took my car keys—they were both in my pockets. So he was free to roam the house all day, giving him plenty of chances to steal things. Like my gun. And you didn't think to mention it?

"As I said before," Solomon replied, with a condescending flick of his tail, "my job is to facilitate your learning, not do your job for you. Considering the results, I'd say you're doing a bang-up job."

I gestured with my head at the wreckage Carl had left behind. And this is what you call a 'bang-up job'?

Solomon's whiskers twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes as he glanced lazily around the room. "Things are quite banged up, wouldn't you say? And little Carl... well, I'd wager he's learned his lesson. He won't be setting a paw out of line anytime soon. Scared straight, as your kind like to say."

I bared my teeth. Why do I get the feeling you're not just here to give me backhanded compliments?

"Because I'm not," Solomon said, his voice silky and infuriatingly calm. "You've still got work to do."

I let out a low growl—more of a groan, really—exasperated. Like what? I'm not exactly in the right mind—or body—to fix what Carl broke. That's a job for tomorrow when I get my thumbs back.

Solomon's eyes gleamed, a slow, Cheshire grin creeping across his face. "I'm not talking about repairs. I'm talking about the walk you promised those dogs."

A creeping suspicion crawled up my spine. I glanced at the clock, and my stomach dropped.

It was 8:25. Six minutes to sunset.

Shit! Look, I don't have time for that right now. I need to get back to the barn—

"Nonsense," Solomon cut in smoothly. "You've got the whole night. No one will bother you at this hour. You could go anywhere, as far as you want. Doesn't that sound tempting?"

That sounds like a terrible idea, I snapped.

"I'm not talking to you," Solomon replied, his voice dropping a pitch, an eerie edge creeping into it, making my fur bristle. "I'm talking to the other you. It'll be their turn soon. I wonder what they have to say."

The auto-dog stirred at the back of my mind, perking up at Solomon's suggestion. The prospect of a run tingled through my limbs, setting my heart pounding in my chest.

No, no, no— Panic surged, and I bolted for the back door. I had to get to the barn—now—before I lost control. But the second I hit the yard, the dogs were already there. All nine of them, standing in a little circular formation with Coy at the center, a bundle of leashes dangling from his mouth.

If at first you don't succeed...

The barn might as well have been a thousand miles away.

I was trapped. Nine eager dogs stood between me and the barn, broadcasting their excitement. Even in human form, their emotions had riled up the auto-dog, causing my control to slip. But now, with the wolf fully awakened, the moon risen, and the sun setting, I couldn't risk getting any closer.

I glanced at the house. The guest room? No, it wouldn't work. I'd removed the doorknob—it wouldn't lock. The bathroom? It had a knob, and I had no thumbs. I couldn't even open the door if I tried.

The garage? There was food there, but only dry food, and the wolf hated dry food—it gave her hiccups, just like white bread did for me. Besides, Coy knew how to open doors, and he'd been the most insistent about the walk. I wouldn't last ten minutes before he and the rest broke in.

I was out of options. The wolf was pulling me from the driver's seat now, the shift inevitable. Night was coming, and it was her turn to drive.

I re-entered the house, pushing the door closed behind me and bracing it with my body. The auto-dog... no, the wolf was taking control. I could feel the subtle tug as she moved forward in my mind, testing the boundaries of my thoughts, ready to strike once night fell.

"You know," Solomon's voice drifted lazily from the coffee table, "this could've been avoided if you'd just taken them to the dog park. Familiars or not, they're still dogs. They aren't hard to please."

What are you, my fairy feline conscience? I shot back, my voice strained as I fought to hold onto myself.

"As I said, I'm your instructor. Or, perhaps, a supervisor. Yes, that seems more fitting. I'm here to make sure you do your job... well enough."

I exhaled through gritted teeth. Then help me stay out of trouble. If I end up in someone's yard again, I'll get arrested, and I won't be able to do my job at all.

"Seems to me," Solomon purred, "you and your other half worked together quite well earlier. I don't see why you can't do it again."

But I can't control it, I said, almost pleading. It's a werewolf. I'm a werewolf.

"Still a dog."

I growled—more human than wolf. Fine. If Solomon wasn't going to help, I'd have to figure it out myself.

The wolf's presence was undeniable. I felt myself slipping, so I let go, mentally pulling myself into the passenger seat. Now I was the observer, the Auto-Jane, watching as the wolf fully subsumed control.

Listen, I commanded, feeling the word vibrate between us. Return here before moonfall. Keep to the forest. Stay out of trouble.

The wolf paused, understanding. She examined the door behind us, letting out a soft growl, asking a question—how to open it. I responded, showing her the motion: pressing down the handle to release the latch.

The wolf moved forward, following the image I'd provided. She pressed down on the handle and stepped outside.

The dogs were waiting.

The wolf's gaze swept over them but quickly shifted beyond, to the treeline, where the dark forest loomed just out of reach. A deep, undeniable joy surged through her—an ancient longing finally within reach. She had a pack and a forest. A home and a family, of sorts.

And she was their leader.

The wolf's thoughts were primal, simple. She considered the fence—an irritating contraption. But then a voice—my voice—whispered in her mind, guiding her. She could leave through the house. The wolf's ears perked at the realization. Usually, the voice tried to hold her back, making her feel tired and sluggish. But not this time. This time, the voice was helpful, offering knowledge in manageable pieces. Not the overwhelming surge that flooded her mind earlier—thoughts of guns, permits, and hospital bills, which branched into memories of bank statements and shooting ranges. It was all so dizzying. But now the resistance had faded, and she could absorb the bits of information the voice provided. The voice was fearful, but not of the wolf, the woods, or the night, but of others—the ones who lived in the forest of stone and light. Of people. Of what they would do to her if they discovered what she was.

That was fine with the wolf. She didn't like people either, or the noise and smell of the beasts they rode. These cars—such awful creatures.

The wolf turned back to her pack. Their eagerness matched her own, tails wagging, bodies trembling with excitement. She met their eyes, confidence radiating from her. There was no doubt.

She was the leader.

Let's go on a walk, she said, using the words she learned from the voice.

The pack responded instantly, barking, yipping, and jumping excitedly. Even the elders of the group were invigorated by the declaration. They all fell in line behind her.

She didn't need to look back.

She knew they would follow.